Pavarotti and Me
by Princess Of Monaco
Summary: A Warbler... A Natural Warbler... I'm not a natural Warbler, but he was...


**Hi. This is my first Glee fic written at *checks clock* 12:34pm. So I'll introduce myself! My name's Kagura! YAY! Okay. That's all the energy I have. Time to write.**

–

The magic left the little bird's eyes. He crumpled. Some say you look asleep when you're dead. At peace. No, you just look dead. There is no adjective to describe that.

I take a shaky breath. Pavarotti isn't dead. He couldn't be dead. Blaine had told me he was molting, so maybe he only passes out for a few seconds before popping back to being a singing Warbler. He had to. That's what he is meant to do. If he comes back then I'll be sure to take better care of him, let him not be sick anymore. I'll comfort him. I'll make sure that he's always happy and always singing. I'll make sure he gets to a vet when he needs to. He'll always have clean water and enough food, never be forgotten. I'll always be there for him, so please... Anyone that may be listening... Dwarf on the dark side of the Moon even, please! Pavarotti can't die...

But he doesn't come back.

It's all my fault. If I had taken better care of him, none of this would've happened. Pavarotti would still be singing. Pavarotti would be here with me, being my little light of joy whenever I walked into my room. Why did this happen? Why hadn't I gotten Pavarotti some help?

Because he was just molting. Growing a new coat of feathers. His body just had to shut down a little, and he would be fine. He had food and water and he liked his cage. He just had to grow a new coat in order to be alright.

But no. He wasn't alright. He would never be alright again. He was so lifeless. A bird should never be so still. A single tear ran down my cheek. Pavarotti...

I realize now that I needed Pavarotti. He was one of two things that kept me sane. He was more than Warbler tradition. When we were alone and I was sure no one could hear me, I sang with him. We haven't done so since he was sick. I haven't even hummed a melody in over a week. Another tear fell onto my lap.

I unlatched his cage and carefully, as though he were still here, removed him from his cage. He was already cold in the palm of my hand. I stroked his thinned feathers gently with my thumb. It only seemed appropriate to sing at a Warbler's funeral.

A Warbler... A Natural Warbler... I'm not a natural Warbler, but he was...

_I've heard it said_

_That people come into our lives_

_For a reason_

_Bringing something we must learn_

_And we are led to those_

_Who help us most grow_

_If we let them_

_And we help them in return_

More tears fell as I pet the small bird. He had come into my life for a reason. He helped me grow, become responsible. We grew together in music. But I didn't help him when he needed me, when he was sick. I should've been there, like he was there for me. But I wasn't.

_Well I don't know if I believe that's true_

_But I know I'm who I am today_

_Because I knew you_

Because I knew him. Because he was mine. Because he... was me.

_Like a comet pulled from orbit_

_As it passes a sun_

_Like a stream that meets a boulder_

_halfway through the wood_

_Who can say_

_If I've been changed for the better_

_But because I knew you_

_I have been changed..._

A sob rattled my chest and I couldn't finish. I pulled the bird closer, trying to warm him, to make him live. He was me. Yes. He had water and he had food. He liked his cage. But he stopped singing when he was molting. He had been shutting down. Changing feathers. Out with the old and in with the new.

And then he died.

He wasn't mean to finish his molting. His time was up. The tears were flowing freely now. Pavarotti was the only pet I had ever had, and I had him for such a short amount of time. It doesn't matter if everyone calls me insane, Pavarotti was me as a bird. He told me something in his death. And I had better follow his last advice.

–

"Kurt? Kurt?" Blaine called, stepping into the commons. He expected to see the younger boy pouring over his work, but instead he was greeted with silence. "Must've left already." Blaine quickly scanned the room, but his eyes fell upon Pavarotti's cage sitting on the coffee table.

Blaine, curious, stepped inside and shut the door. He made his way to the cage and sat down on the sofa beside it. He looked around briefly, wondering if he just didn't see Kurt. But Kurt wasn't there on the second look either, so Blaine turned his attention to Pavarotti.

Who wasn't in his cage.

He was sitting outside of it on a piece of paper, deathly still. Blaine examined the bird gently, so as not to scare it. But he wasn't going to be scared. Blaine nudged him with his finger and the bird just fell over with no resistance.

Blaine became alarmed. Where was Kurt? What had happened to Pavarotti? Blaine looked at the paper Pavarotti was sitting on. There, in Kurt's neat and elegant handwriting, were only two words.

_For Good_.

–

**Woo I was bummed when I wrote this. Bummed when I'm posting it too. That's probably the only reason it's being posted; I'm too tired to scrutinize it too closely. Hope it's okay. Let's see what reviews midnight writing gets me. I tried to get the 5 stages of grief in there too, if anyone noticed.**

**It is now *checks clock* 1:39am. Fell asleep somewhere in there. Oh well. First reviewers here we go... If any...**


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